Harry Potter And the Deadly Gift
by parsleytosage
Summary: A week before his birthday, Harry receives a special present from a mysterious person. With a grim new power now at his disposal, Harry quickly finds himself in an unhappiness that can only be all his fault. [AU, darker, no current romances planned. Deals with death and guilt.]
1. Chapter 1

A bead of sweat slid down from his hairline, running right over his nose and dripping down on to the slate. His hands were shaking. Especially the one with the chalk in it. Never the less, it kept moving, pressing the tip of the chalk down hard on the slate, shakily writing out the name Vernon Dursley.

Harry waited. It was completely silent and near-completely dark. He had no indication of any change in the isolated cupboard under the stairs. His heart was beating at a rapid rate, but his breath seemed slow and languid. He felt dizzy. He imagined he would for a long time after this, regardless of whether it worked or not.

He closed his eyes. Tried to steady his heart rate and his breathing. There was a long, silent, painful moment.

Then he dragged his sleeve across the name and proceeded to write down, already having a little less trouble than before, Petunia Dursley. And Dudley Dursley after that.

One more immeasurable period of time passed. He could not breathe. Heart was racing. Thoughts in a strange mess. Emotions paradoxical and even alien.

It was time to see whether or not it had worked.

Did he really want it to?

Yes, he decided, as he pushed the cupboard door open, trying not to wince at the creak it made. He was that kind of person now. He felt that darkness in him. He wasn't the hero of his own life anymore. He was selfish. Hurt. Scared. And very human.

The stairs to the second level seemed so much longer than they ever had before and when he finally reached the top, he nearly tripped over himself in surprise.

Everything was measured. Instant by instant. He was aware of every sound, motion, and action. Putting his hand on the handle, gripping the handle, turning the handle, pushing open the door, move one foot, the other, breath.

He couldn't hear Dudley breathing.

But he couldn't be sure.

So he stepped closer. Closer. Stared right into his Schrodinger cousin's face. Still couldn't be sure. He put his hands over Dudley's mouth. No breath was coming out. Harry knew that he'd killed him. Really, truly. Still, he felt Dudley's pulse at the wrist. Pushed his shoulder. Whispered to him. Then pushed him hard, so that he felt off the bed, landing limp on the floor and didn't move. Said out loud, "Dudley." Then Harry shivered to himself in the cold darkness.

Without any possible doubt, Dudley was dead. Vernon and Petunia would also be.

There was a little relief, even though Harry didn't really know why.

There was a strong feeling of disconnect when he checked his aunt and uncle, just to be sure. When he returned to his bed to wait for morning, he felt empty. He couldn't sleep. Certainly hadn't expected to.

Really, he'd expected to cry. And hate himself. Well, there was a little of that, but not much. Mostly just nothing. Nothing, but a really corporeal sort of nothing. Not just emptiness, but the knowledge of emptiness and the feeling of it. Like he'd lost something, maybe. Forgotten something, but he didn't know what he'd forgotten.

Sunrise was there quickly. Still, he waited, silent in his bed, until a little later than the usual time he'd wake up.

He pulled himself up, painfully stiff from spending all night in a tense state, then went to the kitchen and made breakfast. Bacon, eggs, toast. For four people. In the usual manner he made it. Turned the pot on for coffee. Ate his breakfast, silent and alone. And waited. A ruse. To get the proper timing. Still, it felt like he was truly waiting for something. Like any moment, they really would come down the stairs. And suddenly everyone would know he'd tried to kill them last night.

That, of course, did not happen.

He went upstairs. Checked the bodies again. Just to make sure. Just in case.

Then he called the police and reported to them how he couldn't get his relatives to wake up, that he was scared and didn't know what to do.

His thoughts went to the letter and wrapping paper buried in the park, then returned to himself. And he started to weep for something he wasn't quite sure of.

Three days before the night of this murder, young Harry Potter had woken in the middle of the night to a strange sound, like the echos of a ringing bell. The light in his room was on and a letter and thin package were laying on his stomach.

He was immediately suspicious and checked outside his cupboard. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary there. What on earth could this be?

The letter was in an envelope marked with his name. Even his uncle probably wouldn't be angry with him for opening a letter clearly addressed to him. Right?

The handwriting was a little difficult to read at first. It was in very old-fashioned cursive, with the letter squished terribly close together. He'd be scolded if he wrote like this on one of his school assignments, but adults seemed to get away with it all the time. He noted, before he began properly reading, that this handwriting certainly didn't belong to his aunt or uncle, or anyone else he knew.

'Dear Harry,

It would seem you haven't been having the best time, as of late. I imagine you're rather annoyed with your lot in life. If only someone could change that, things might be a lot better for poor you.

So I'm sending you your birthday present a little early this year. I'm sure you'll appreciate it. You're a very grateful and good boy. And I imagine very clever and never rash, if you're anything like me, which I do hope you are.

This particular present, which I imagine, being a child that you are, you've opened first, may seem like nothing more than a simple chalkboard, with only the most boring uncolored white chalk with it. The chalk may be mundane, but be assured the slate is anything but.

It'll be a hard concept to wrap your head around, but I doubt, even if I had the patience to, that tallying around it will do you any real good. Magic, much like the sort you've read about in stories, is very, very real. True witches and wizards are scattered around the world, quite cruelly hidden from you. You might never meet them, if not for the fact that you, too, are very magical yourself. You are destined to become a wizard, Harry Potter.

Maybe you've seen magic already, not recognizing it for what it was. Maybe not. If you wish to test the plausibility of my irrational and strange claims, the chance is right now.

Your chalkboard is, as I said, a very special one. It's so special, in fact, that it is considered special even in the magic realm, so full of special things. You mustn't ever show it to anyone. I insist on this, though I doubt you really need telling.

Using chalk of any kind, you can write on this board the name of someone you know. The instant the tip of your chalk leaves the slate, this person will die. Magic releases their soul from their body, instantly, so that there is not even a shred of evidence of death left behind. There's no going back once it's done, so don't use it too lightly.

But I do recommend you use it.

It's a madly useful object. I had such trouble ever choosing to part with it. I'd considered other gifts too. But I wanted to something that was useful to you as well as just fun.

Though I suppose, being the child you are, that you might lack my dark sense of humor.

I've blathered on too long. I'm sure you're bored.

Happy birthday, Harry. So sorry I haven't been part of anyone's life in such a long time. Lot's of love, and I'll write to you again next year.

Your loving many-greats-grandfather,

Death XXVII'

Harry didn't have any words or properly connected thoughts to explain the strange letter. He dismissed it's accuracy for the smallest moment, before allowing the total of his hope through. It was a morbid and dangerous idea. The appeal of the super natural won through, as it always would. There was a war going on in his mind, quickly won as he decided not to worry about what would happen if it were all untrue: what did he have to live for anyway?

So he threw himself wholeheartedly into the consequences of it being real.

Inside the simply-wrapped package was, as expected, a slate and several pieces of white chalk. It looked fully unremarkable – just a simple slate, without even any decoration.

What should he do with it?

He spent all night awake, writing out a little plan in his mind, going back on it, returning to the plan. He thought about destroying the slate and letter. Thought about showing it to an adult, for a brief moment. Considered not using til a better and more obvious reason to presented itself. Considered becoming a hero from a comic book with an especially grim power. Maybe burying it.

In the end, he decided to bury the letter.

He was certainly not a hero. As of yet, he didn't call himself villain either.

But he was going to forever stained with the murder of three people.

Harry was rather shell-shocked and quiet when the paramedics and police arrived. A woman in a stuffy-looking suit led him away from everything. He took his school backpack with his slate tucked inside and she let him. They sat in the back of a police car that started driving away somewhere after a while while she calmly talked to him, not so much asking questions for answers as keeping him occupied. Maybe making sure he was okay. He wondered if he really looked terrible. He wasn't in a solid state of mind, that was sure.

Everything in the world had changed so suddenly. He didn't even feel like a child anymore. Death was his something-great-grandfather? Death the twenty-seventh, actually, apparently. The slate worked, so why should he doubt anything else in the letter?

He was a wizard, then. What was he supposed to do about that. Death XXVII said he'd write in a year. His next birthday, assuming.

"Harry?" The woman prompted, snapping him out of his thoughts. He'd completely forgotten where he was in a striking short amount of time.

"S-sorry." He said, "I wasn't listening."

The woman had a very gentle expression. She'd told him her name, but he couldn't remember.

"That's okay." She said, smiling in a very peaceful, reassuring way, "Do you have any other relatives, Harry? Someone we could call?"

"I have an aunt." Harry said, "But she really doesn't like me. Um, I guess that doesn't matter. Her number is in the house, in the address book in the junk drawer. S-should I go and get it?"

Harry was feeling exceedingly nervous. He had this idea that everyone knew exactly what he'd done. Like all of it was acting, tricking him into confessing. That was stupid, but... he still felt it.

"No, that's all right," She said, "What's your aunt's name, Harry?"

"Aunt Marge. Um, Marjorie Dursley."

"Right. We're going to have Officer Brown here call your aunt. Is that all right, Harry?"

Harry nodded. Aunt Marge would not adopt him. He knew that for certain. She'd told her brother that he should have given Harry up for adoption more than once. He'd probably stay with her a while, though. Then he'd live in a group home. Other orphans.

What was going to do with his life? He was struck with the idea, that maybe nothing had really changed. But if he couldn't figure out anything else, Death XXVII was going to write to him on his next birthday. He could at least live until then, certainly.

"Are you all right, Harry?" The woman asked.

He realized he'd been ignoring questions again.

"I, I'm sorry." He said. He was shaking.

"That's okay, Harry. We don't have to talk right now."

Harry nodded and tried to visually express his gratitude. The ride was silent. He supposed they were going to the police station. They'd wait there. Maybe he'd talk to a proper therapist.

It wouldn't do any good, probably. He couldn't tell anyone what was really troubling him. Couldn't tell a soul.

He had never felt so alone in his life.

Albus Dumbledore had been expecting a scene like this. He'd responded the instant he'd come into his office that morning to see his instruments indicating distress.

Muggles in blue were crawling over the Dursley residence. Dumbledore feared the worst. He had never considered the need for protection from mundane elements. A potentially devastating oversight.

He had no indication of realities of the situation and feared he might not have time to discover them with covert means, so without a shred of hesitation, he approached the muggles directly, taking only the time to obscure his robes into a glamour of typical muggle clothing.

"What's going on here?" He asked one person standing at the perimeter of the basic area, "I'm a friend of the family," He added.

The man took a moment to look him up and down, then called over another muggle. This man, clearly the superior of the group, quickly explained things to him. What appeared to have happened and the vital information that Harry was fully unharmed.

When the door to the room Harry and the kindly woman had been sitting in, Harry had expected to see his aunt or maybe yet another police officer. Instead, was a man dressed in very strange, off-putting clothing. He had very long hair all around him, including an incredible white beard. He looked every bit an eccentric old wizard and Harry rather instantly assumed him to be that. Yet... he knew, for certain, that this man could not be Death XXVII.

Upon entering the room and seeing Harry, the man immediately let out a reassured-sounding sigh.

"Thank Merlin," He breathed out, Harry's ears perking up at that. To him, the words were proof of his immediate assumptions.

This man was a wizard. Here because Harry had used magic? To punish him? Or maybe something else. Shouldn't jump to conclusions. Did he know? Somehow? He knew nothing about magic at all. He'd just jumped into this. Madly. What were experienced wizards capable of? Could they read minds? Just know things?

Harry was really frightened. Felt an instant distrust and fear of the man before he'd even spoken a full sentence. He couldn't bring himself to look at the wizard man's face, feeling so guilty and afraid.

"This is Mr. Dumbledore. He's an old friend of the family who hasn't visited in years," A police officer who had let Mr. Dumbledore in said, "Wanted to make sure Harry was all right with his own eyes."

"Mr. Dumbledore?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Harry. It's me. Maybe you don't remember me. You were only a child when we met. I knew your parents very closely, Harry, and kept in touch with your aunt a little after they passed away." Harry was able to see a curious expression on Dumbledore's face out of the corner of his eye.

"Are you all right, Harry?" He asked, bending quite a bit to be closer to Harry's level.

That made Harry even more uncomfortable. He leaned away, still unable to look Mr. Dumbledore in the face.

"We think he's in mild shock," The woman said, her voice low as if that would prevent Harry from hearing her, "As to be expected. But all right."

Harry nodded, "I'm all right."

The air was awkward for a moment, as apparently no one knew what to say. Then Dumbledore sat down, next to Harry, staring at him in a way that made Harry feel very uncomfortable.

Eventually, he turned to the woman.

"I know he doesn't have any other relatives. At least not any willing to take care of him. What's going to happen here, exactly?"

The woman hesitated for half a second before she spoke. She probably didn't like talking as if Harry wasn't there any more than Harry did. "If the Dursleys didn't have a will that appoints someone to take care of that decision, it'll be brought to a judge. Relatives and any others who feel themselves proper for it can nominate themselves as a guardian, and the judge will decide who is most appropriate."

"So they're really dead, then." Harry said.

Both adults instantly turned to him and Harry really wished he hadn't said anything. It had just sort of slipped out.

"I-" He started to stutter, "I mean, I knew that. I knew it from the moment they weren't breathing and weren't waking up and didn't have a pulse and – I just. Just."

Harry started tearing up. He felt so childish. He was shaking and these two strangers were staring at him breaking down. He was ashamed of himself – deeply ashamed. He hated himself. Already, he hated himself.

The woman put her hand on his arm, very gently, not saying a word. And that was comforting, just a little.

But Dumbledore spoke. And he was speaking like Harry wasn't there at all.

"I'll take care of him." He said, "I'm a friend of the family."

Harry didn't like this man. He instantly did not like this man. He leaned away from him, towards the woman. Despite not remembering her name, she was a source of comfort to him. He supposed that was why she, out of the other police officers, was the one to escort him and sit with him. She was nice. He liked her.

He felt like he'd sold his childhood, a little, but he could still find comfort in kind, motherly people. Harry cried, very quietly, very slowly, closing his eyes, without any sobs.

Legal events progressed. He stayed with Aunt Marge during that, keeping to the room she gave him. He saw a therapist, once. It accomplished little, because Harry didn't feel like talking much at all yet, about anything or to anyone. It was determined to give him time and take him in for another session later. The woman, whose name was Melissa Wright, handled things with him mostly. It came out that how the Dursleys had been treating him was classified as neglect and abuse. Dumbledore came to visit him once during the period and made a point to apologize to him, as if that was somehow the man's fault. Harry wondered, briefly, if it was, but decided he didn't care. He'd fallen into a lethargic depression.

The one thing that surprised him was the ridiculous number of strange people who came forward offering to be his legal guardian. All of them 'family friends' he'd never met before. Friends of his parents. Seriously strange people, who often dressed oddly. Not all of them, but most of them. The Longbottoms, the Prewitts, the Jones, the Noltons, the Wagtails, the Greengrasses, the Lovecrafts, the Lovegoods, the Hobdays, the Weasleys, the Malfoys, fully formed families who for some reason felt that they were responsible for taking care of him and a number of random, lonely people. It seemed impossible. If so many people wanted children so desperately, why were there orphanages and group homes at all? There was something larger at all play here and he knew it. He highly suspected that all of them were wizards.

Most were suspiciously wealthy. A lot already had demonstrated capacity to care for children. Few, if any, had real connection to him. Things were left rather unsure and Harry definitely wasn't filled in on all the details.

Melissa came to visit him often enough, to check he was okay. Mostly, he was left alone. He chose not to return to school for the time being. He spent his time reading the random books Aunt Marge left lying around and staring out the window.

He was used to his Aunt watching his every move and critiquing him constantly, but now that he was in her home and likely to be leaving her life forever very soon, she seemed content to ignore him and occupy herself with mourning. He felt sorry for her, but only a little.

Before too many days had passed at all, he was adopted. It was the day after his birthday.

He'd forgotten about that.

Silly.

Life kept on going for the people who weren't dead.


	2. Chapter 2

The Changs were a very hospital and kindly family. In them, Harry saw a chance, possibly, that he might redeem himself.

It was not an orphanage he went to or a house where he was just taken care of or worked. This was surely a new family: they treated him, instantly, as such. He was given his own room, smallish, simple, in the smallish, simple house, across from the daughter's, Cho.

Cho was sweet, very gentle and calm. She seemed overly kind to him and unlike her parents, did seem to walk on eggshells just a bit around him. Harry didn't mind that. He did feel very bad, quite terrible that she seemed to pity him. He had brought this situation on himself. He did not deserve her pity; it's presence only increased his feelings of guilt.

Her father was a therapist specializing in a very specific field. Due to the statue of secrecy, relationships between magicals and muggles were often difficult. It had become fairly common practice when in one of these relationships for the witch or wizard involved to avoid explaining the magical world until after marriage, which obviously presented complications. It was Sun Chang's job to work as a marriage counselor for these incidences and as a sort of culture-shock therapist. His specialty in introducing muggles to the magical world might have been the impetus for why this family in particular was chosen to adopt Harry.

Though why they had wished to adopt at all, he was still figuring out.

The mother of the small family worked for the magical government in their transportation department. It had taken some explaining for Harry to understand the Floo Network, and then a little more to understand Lin's role in its regulation. Mrs. Chang, apparently held a high position in her department, making her a more important woman. She was, apparently, a pureblood as well, whereas Mr. Chang was half-blood, and despite the bad math, Cho, too qualified as half-blood.

In their description of magic, society, culture, government, and onward to Harry, they had not sugar-coated any element. Harry had hardly expected the magical world to be perfect, pure, and just. He could not find himself expecting that of anything anymore. In the muggle world, they had racism, sexism, class-ism – so in the wizarding world, they had those too, with the unremarkable edition of the concept of 'purity'.

These, too, Harry wondered might be a way towards redemption. His past could eventually be buried under good works and love – or at least Harry hoped.

That, however, was for the farther future. Despite feeling so aged and tired, Harry did very well remember his true age being only eleven. He could be a champion, maybe, if he studied hard and learned well like Cho.

She was a Ravenclaw. The best of the four Houses in Hogwarts, she'd told him – though of course she didn't mind if he went elsewhere, she was quick to mention. They hadn't known each other for long, but Cho took time out of her life to get to know Harry and personally help him adjust to life in the new house and home.

Harry was given reign to do as he liked through the nearly empty house while he 'adjusted'. He chose to spend his time with Cho, staying in her room and reading her books while she caught up before school. They talked most often about school.

It was amazing how accepting Cho was of him. He thought maybe she'd be upset. There was apparently no warning whatsoever of a new brother in the house that used to be all hers. But she seemed happy about it. She was excited to have Harry come to school with her. She was in no way lonely – she had a varied group of friends and was very close with Ms. Marietta Edgecomb, who mother worked with Mrs. Chang. So loneliness didn't account for it.

The acceptance did make Harry feel guilty. He didn't deserve it. Not at all. But it made him feel a little good too. She comforted him when he cried during the night and didn't even tell her parents. She was wonderful.

"Is there any way to decide which house you get into?" Harry asked her one day while they were sitting together in her room, on and off reading and talking.

Cho looked up from her book at him and took just a moment, considering. She was only a year older than he was, but clearly did like to act out being the older, wiser, sister. Harry didn't mind.

"I heard once that you can choose. The hat won't force you into a House that you hate if you say so. But I don't think that's the best thing to do. You'll be happiest wherever it thinks you fit, so you shouldn't worry about it." She smiled at him, gently, evoking a maturity, and returned to reading.

Harry fiddled with the corner of his own book, only really pretending to read while he thought. He decided his future actions fairly quickly. His happiness was unimportant. He had three distinct and conscious goals, to be achieved in order: keep Cho happy, keep Mr. and Mrs. Chang happy, and do good works for the good of all people. It was his duty now – this was what he received for committing the vile act he did. The Dursleys, terrible people or no, would be the impetus towards Harry's work.

There was a gentle knock at the door Harry already started to think of as 'theirs', spending as much time in Cho's room as he did.

Mrs. Chang opened the door slightly, her voice gentle, calm, walking on eggshells. "Harry, it's time for your appointment. You feeling up to it today?"

Harry nodded, knitting his eyebrows in secret underneath his mess of hair. No, he was not – but the Changs would be happier if he went to his therapy and pretended to get better.

He could not hide the evidence of his abuse from anyone. Mr. Chang's expertise was not in the field of child psychology and especially not the kind of issues Harry had. Therapy at all was rare in the wizarding world – Mr. Chang's practice being the exception, not the rule.

Daily, Harry went to a session with a Dr. Leung, a muggle. Any feeling of culture shock he'd speak about to Mr. Chang. Any feelings of guilt to no one. And not having much else left, Harry worked out with Dr. Leung the issues he had with the Dursleys.

And even though he lied so, so often in their sessions – somehow, like real magic, he felt them helping him anyway. Maybe he couldn't speak of the reasons for his emotions, but he could still speak of the emotions themselves. And Dr. Leung could listen, give advice, give silly 'homework' like "Do something for yourself today," or "Go for a walk this evening,". Harry felt like he was becoming a real person, maybe. And the pain from secrecy and dishonesty faded away.

There wasn't much time before the semester was too being. Hence the once-a-day rather than once-a-week sessions and the rush to get prepared for the new school and new world. The family went together to Diagon Alley for the sole purpose of purchasing Harry's school things and getting him acclimated to the world before he was to be thrown into it at the start of the year.

They went multiple times, for short durations, when it wasn't crowded and noisy. Harry quickly began to feel at home there. More than he'd ever felt at home with the Dursleys. It was a good feeling and he quickly liked the world he had decided to work for.

He wasn't expected to call Mr. and Mrs. Chang 'dad' and 'mum'. Or do much of anything, really. He had chores, but worked together with Cho in all of them. He was told that he should work hard when school rolled around to starting, get good grades, which were very important in his new family. Hence why he read so much with Cho in her room. That, and the material was the most fascinating he had ever soaked in.

And maybe most of all, how very pleased Mr. and Mrs. Chang looked when they found out he was reading and studying. Not just pleased, maybe – proud. Harry was going to work hard to make that keep happening.

Dumbledore sent letters by owl, but never visited. A Professor McGonagal did, just to introduce him to the concept of Hogwarts, more or less. His situation was, after all, rather unique.

He had new clothes – simple, clean. A trunk. Lots of books. School things, including some he was not yet allowed to use. They'd given him a small sum of money as an allowance to take with him to Hogwarts.

Before Harry was introduced to the fold, Cho had made an agreement with her parents that if she got very good marks that year, the family would get a cat. This widened to include Harry – another reason to work hard. He would not be the reason Cho was deprived of something.

There were a few other encouragements before he and Cho were left at the train station: have fun, stay out of trouble, make friends.

Harry, finally feeling a little bit good, would do all of those things.

He and Cho walked together towards the train, early. Harry was calm, content, til Cho girlishly shrieked out, "Marietta!"

Cho's chosen best friend. She, too, was early. And the rest of Cho's group of there too – noisy, happy, giggling people.

"Do you want to meet Marietta and everyone?" Cho turned to him, asking excitedly.

Harry shook his head, stepping back, "Not right now, actually. You go ahead – I'm going to look for a drinks machine, or something."

Cho nodded, understanding, and let Harry wander off, running over to her group of friends.

Harry doubted he could ever allow himself to be so openly joyous. It seemed rather strange and he doubted he'd be welcome there. Still, he watched the group as he walked away. Not exactly jealous, not exactly...

Thawk!

His armful of books and rolling trunk hit the pavement as he did. Caught in melancholic thoughts, he'd been paying no attention – he'd walked right into someone.

"Are you okay?" A female voice asked, "I wasn't paying attention."

Harry quickly shook his head and answered, "I'm fine – that was my fault. Your books..."

As he picked up his things, Harry realized his books had been mixed up with hers – the girl had also been carrying a large amount of books in her arms.

"Is this one yours?" He asked, holding up one of hers to her as she, too, knelt down, gathering spilled books.

"Yes. Haven't got around to reading that one yet. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way," She said, pausing in her work to hold out her hand to him.

Harry took her hand and smiled at her. This girl wasn't very attractive, like his sister was. She was buck-toothed, with the bushiest hair, but Harry already decided that he liked her. She had an attitude to her that was visible just seeing her eyes.

"Harry Chang." He replied as he shook her hand, "It's good to meet you. I'm glad me and my sister aren't the only big readers. I'm a first year."

Hermione smiled, showing off her teeth more, but looking very friendly and attractive.

"Me too," She said, "It's all really new. I didn't even know about magic before this."

"Me neither." Harry said, "But I've been doing a lot of reading on it. My, uh, family knows a lot too."

"Your sister?" Hermione asked as they finished up sorting the books into two piles.

"Yeah. Cho. She's a Ravenclaw – I know I'll be too. Oh, do you know about the Houses?"

Hermione nodded as they stood, "I've been reading about them. Hogwarts, A History – that's probably my new favorite book. Most of the greatest wizarding inventors and innovators came from Ravenclaw – I read that. I guess Ravenclaw is probably the House I'll be in too. I don't know though, you can't really know where you'll end up until you're actually sorted."

"You should just go where you're happy." Harry said, "Though Cho told me you can decide, actually – she didn't, but apparently you can."

"Right." Hermione said, her eyes sparkling.

Harry didn't have another thing to say to her. Suddenly, their rather happy chance meeting was a bit awkward, because all the books had now been picked up. Harry didn't have anything to really do with his hands. And he wanted to make friends – Hermione seemed a perfect fit.

"So, um... do you know anyone here?" He asked, a little bluntly.

Hermione didn't seem to catch the bluntness, "No, not really. The muggleborns all went together when he got our school things, but we didn't really talk or anything. I've never really been good at people anyway." Hermione said, looking a bit shy and sheepish.

Harry didn't quite know what to say to that – empathize? "Do you want to sit together? I know Cho's going to be with her friends, so I don't really have anyone to sit with either."

Hermione nodded happily, "Yeah."

And just like that, Harry had already started socializing. Hermione seemed like a wonderful girl – likely a Ravenclaw, Harry, even knowing as little as he did, could tell – smart, too, and just talkative enough. She didn't intimidate him either.

As they walked to the nearest entrance of the train, Harry spotted Cho, still talking animatedly with her friends, none of them having moved since they met up together. He caught her eye and gave her a little wave, letting her know he was getting on. She returned his gesture and smiled, then continued paying attention to her group.

The platform had been quiet, but the train itself was absolutely silent.

"Guess we're really early," Harry said.

"Where do you want to sit?" Hermione asked, "We've got full pick."

Lately, Harry had taken to over-analyzing. Where was optimal? If they chose a compartment near the entrance, they could be among the first off. Was that important, in this case? No, he decided. If they sat somewhere away from an entrance, things would be far quieter – a bonus. They might also be more likely to have the compartment all to themselves. A good thing? Harry looked at Hermione – yes.

"Let's go to the very front." Harry finally said.

Hermione looked at him a little strangely and he blushed.

"Sorry," He said, blushing, "I'm terrible at quick decisions."

Hermione shook her head and half-giggled. "No worries." She said.

The awkwardness arose again momentarily after they put their things up and sat down. Quickly, however, conversation began to flow near-naturally.

"Have you been practicing spells?" Hermione asked him.

Harry shook his head, "No, we aren't allowed yet."

Hermione blushed. "Oh, right."

Harry laughed lightly at her, "You have, I'm guessing? It's fine you know. I think it's cool actually. Can you do any?"

After a moment to accept he wasn't making fun of her, Hermione nodded. "It took me a while, but I learned a few. They get so much easier after the first – and I really just couldn't wait for Hogwarts."

She took out her wand, carefully tucked in her pocket, and also opened the window of the stationary train. Harry was very curious. What she did what actually very simple.

"Aguamenti." She said, releasing a jet of water from her wand down onto the gravel on the other side of the track.

Simple, but Harry knew that was a more difficult one of the first year spells from reading through the interesting parts of his charms text.

"Wow!" He exclaimed with honest enthusiasm, "You're so cool!"

Hermione looked a mix of embarrassed and very proud of herself. "Thank you," She said, smiling.

"Can you teach me anything?" Harry asked, then catching himself, "I mean, if that's..."

But Hermione just nodded, still smiling, and by the time Cho came by, checking to make sure Harry was on the train, he was already making tiny red sparks.

For a sliver of a moment, Harry felt guilt come over him again. He had never been so happy – and that happiness was because he had done a terrible thing. That happiness was not deserved.

That sliver of a moment lasted only a sliver of a moment, because Hermione made him laugh and forget it.

They did not end up having the compartment all to themselves. Shortly before it was time to set off, a thoroughly nervous boy approached and asked to sit with them. He seemed ashamed of himself, an idea quickly dispelled by Harry and Hermione.

It was Neville Longbottom, a friendly enough if nervous and awkward lad. Unfortunate name. Harry was able to talk comfortably with both of them. The train started, eventually, and Harry waved goodbye to the empty platform.

The new boy, Neville, calmed down after a while. He had a pet toad, which Harry and Hermione were both eager to look at. They ate snacks together, Hermione having brought her own, Harry and Neville purchasing from the trolley. The countryside was beautiful, the company pleasant, and the ride stress-free. Only very rarely did Harry's thoughts return to the slate and chalk hidden in the bottom of his trunk.

It was a healthy development for him, he knew.

"Neville, your toad." Harry said, as Trevor the toad hopped down from where he had been temporarily forgotten on the bench.

"Oh!" Neville cried out, grabbing a hold of Trevor and returning him to his carrier.

"Thanks, Harry," He said sheepishly, shrinking into his shoulders.

"Welcome," Harry said, still cheerful. "And we should get changed soon, shouldn't we?"

"That's a good idea." Hermione said, "Why don't you guys go first? I'll wait outside."

It was an agreeable plan and very quickly everyone was cleaned up and ready for arrival.

"We should take a boat together." Harry said, "Three people is enough, right? So we don't have to share."

"Yes," Said Hermione.

"Well," Neville said, "There might be someone left out. We should maybe keep an eye out. If there's like... a group of five and someone has to be alone?" Neville seemed nervous again. Like he hadn't wanted to say anything at all when it disagreed with friends.

"Yeah, that's right." Harry said, making sure Neville saw his smile, "That's a good idea, Neville. Thank you for reminding me."

Hermione, too, smiled at Neville, who smiled back at both of them. Clearly, the three were going to make good friends.

When the train did arrive, they were instructed to leave their luggage and follow the very large man with a lantern.

The train trip had taken the better part of the day. It was very dark now.

There turned out to be no one left out. Only first-years took boats and there weren't too many first-years. Harry, Hermione, and Neville shared a boat and Harry and Hermione both got a chance to be amazed at the self-rowing oars.

It was cold and a little wet on the lake, but fun too. Harry found himself laughing with the other too students. When they got very close, the atmosphere did change a bit. Neville was nervous he wouldn't be in Gryffindor, like his family always was.

"That kind of thing doesn't matter," Harry said.

"And what's wrong with Hufflepuff anyway?" Hermione asked, "We'll still be friends if we aren't in the same House. I mean, right?"

Both boys nodded.

"I just..." Neville said, looking equal parts nervous and sad, "I don't want to disappoint my gran any more. I know she wants me to be in Gryffindor, like my mum and dad were."

Harry nodded in sympathy. "That is rough, I guess. But I know things will be all right."

"Yeah," Hermione said, "I know you get to decide it now. If you don't want to be in Hufflepuff, you can say so. I know you can. I, well, I'm already planning on asking for Ravenclaw."

Harry grinned widely, "Me too."

Neville looked back and forth a moment. "You're both going to be in Ravenclaw?"

Harry and Hermione nodded.

The boats soon arrived. They were ushered up and told to wait. Even Harry found himself a bit nervous, his stomach tight. The idea of sitting in front of an entire hall, everyone staring at you, was a little nerve-wracking. He unconsciously made himself look small, quite nearly hiding behind Hermione, who didn't seem nervous much at all.

Eventually, they were called in, and sorted one by one, alphabetically.

Of their group, Harry went first, having the last name Chang.

Everyone stared at him as he walked up and put the hat on his head. It was a fiercely uncomfortable walk, but he did manage.

The voice of the hat speaking to him was a calm, old-sounding one.

"So you're not a Potter anymore? You're quite different from what I expected you to be boy. With such a terrifying darkness there... you've done terrible things, haven't you?"

Harry swallowed. He had mentally prepared for this, and read about it in depth. The hat could not tell about anyone's thoughts. Wasn't allowed to.

"I'm not looking to get you in trouble." The hat said, "Are you? Slytherin is by all likelihood, the optimal place for you. You're lacking severely in courage, though I see strong intellect, loyalty... such a sense of hard work too."

Harry thought very purposefully at the hat, "Not Slytherin. I know I wouldn't fit in there. I want to work hard. I want to help people. I want to learn everything. I want to be with my new sister. Ravenclaw is where I need to be for that and I know I'll fit."

"You've come to me already knowing what you want. I won't delay trying to convince you. Work hard, then, boy, and perhaps great things truly will await you. **RAVENCLAW!**"

The House was shouted aloud. Like with the other students, Ravenclaw cheered loudly. Maybe, more loudly, it seemed? No, it probably only seemed that way because Harry was in front. There was no reason for them to cheer louder for him than for the others.

Hermione, too, ended up in Ravenclaw, as he'd expected, having saved a seat for her. Harry was curious to see where Neville would go. He had nervousness in his mannerisms, but true bravery where it mattered, Harry felt. So Gryffindor was likely. Not sure maybe.

The true answer really surprised him. Neville went to Ravenclaw! Just like Harry and Hermione. That was an utter shock, but a delight too. Harry cheered very loudly for his new friend and waved him over to sit with him and Hermione.

The future seemed very possible.

Harry paid good attention to the lectures, emphasizing to himself to stay away from those dangerous places, then enjoyed the feast with the other Ravenclaws. Cho introduced him to her friends and Harry introduced Hermione and Neville. Getting to know the other students in his House was an enjoyable, if hectic experience. He was left excited for classes tomorrow – not so excited as Hermione, though.

There was only one real bad thing introduced – whenever he looked towards the teacher's table, Harry felt a headache to his core.

He said nothing about it.

Harry knew he had no right to complain.

* * *

_[Quick Note - I'm rather new at this. I'd love your help! Please let me know when you spot areas I could improve on.]_


End file.
